Finger Strength
by Craneeum
Summary: Tyler is dense, clumsy, and incredibly underrated. Here is a collection of one-shots, mostly crack ships, of Tyler's peculiar exploits [mostly highschool AU]
1. Tyler Goes to the Office

Offering to run errands for Mrs. Penney is an excellent way to escape the horrors of math class, at least for a while. Some brilliant part of Tyler's 16-year-old mind decided that taking Foundations Math instead of standard-level Math 11 would be a good decision – that it would require a lot less effort, and sneaking a nap or two or droning out to doodle would have less of an impact on his overall ability to not fail.

However Tyler was on a certain borderline of stupidity that put him far above hopeless, and he began to realize about two classes in that Foundations Math was actually too dumbed down for his tastes. He already knew how fractions worked, at least, to the best of his knowledge, and if Lindsay Page raised her hand one more time to ask a wide-eyed, droning question that could be sufficiently answered by a sixth grader, he'd probably cry.

But at least the testing would be easy, and he'd get a seventy-something or more instead of the squeaky lower sixties he's survived with since seventh grade. Provided, of course, that he didn't come dangerously close to falling asleep during the quizzes, too.

One such instance of getting drowsy is what prompted Tyler to raise his hand when Mrs. Penney asked for a runner to retrieve the newly-issued computer logins from the office. The math room was sort of at the centre of the top floor, so he'd figured he could take the long way around and complete an entire cycle of the school hallways before returning. Sometimes, when the going gets tough in class, it's fun to find ways to waste as much time as possible, like when he and Zeke decided to run a business of rubbing everyone's erasers on the rough edges of chairs until they were pearly and white as if they were fresh from Staples. But getting a chance to actually _leave _the class? That was golden.

He thought, just maybe, he'd run into a random friend in the hallway and be able to waste an additional minute or two shooting the breeze. Or at the very least, he could toss a grimace into a classroom in hopes it mustered a laugh.

The first room he passed contained both Gwen Blasczyk and Alejandro Buerromuerto, and they aren't really ones for humour.

Or maybe he'd run into Noah Khosla once he got into the office. Noah was supremely gay, but he was right on, and since he had a role on student council, he was in the office literally once a day at least. Noah confided in him once that he always made sure to plan his office meetings to land during Chemistry, because Mr. Dentzel was a 'balding loser'.

But when Tyler set foot in the glass-paneled office, there was Noah, no student council members, and no Tyler-wannabes simply wasting time. There was nobody beyond the plump, curly-haired secretary, pounding her long-nailed fingers into the keys of her computer.

"Hey." He says, approaching her desk.

"What can I help you with?" the secretary replies. Her voice doesn't lose its warm, friendly tone despite being forced to answer a zillion phone calls a day.

"Um, yeah. I'm here to get my logins?"

"Which homeroom, hon?"

"Kelley Penney, 217…?"

The secretary motions for a stack of paper. She shoves a few stick-pens out of the way and browses the multitude of sheets cluttering her desk. "Oh shoot. I let Harry take them. He just went up to the computer lab. He'll be back, and then you can take your logins. Just go to the waiting area."

Part of Tyler is displeased that he needed to sit on his butt and wait, but on the other hand, the longer he sits in the waiting room, the less time he'd need to spend listening to math class, so his waiting surely has an upside.

He sits on a sparsely-padded metal chair with his legs splayed in all directions. He feels like he's at the dentist, except at the dentist's, there are usually sports magazines and good housekeeping, so he could learn about Lance Armstrong's testicles or how to make killer olive tapenade. In here, there's only pamphlets for activities he doesn't want to do.

He can spy the trophy case from here, knowing full well that any trophies featuring his name are back at the junior high school, possibly for mini handball. Things just got a lot more competitive once the kids' bodies were fully pumped with their sexual hormones.

In the glass of the trophy case, he notices the curving silhouette of a girl entering the office.

There's no reason to wear dress slacks and a button-up top to school, not on just a regular Tuesday in September. She enters with the clack-clack of three-inch heels, and by her gait, you can tell she means business.

"Hello, Courtney…" the secretary begins, usually tender voice worn a bit more thin. Clearly she's dealt with Courtney Vega before. "What can I help you with?"

But hasn't everyone had to deal with Courtney before? She tried to usurp Noah's position on student council, when everyone, even the freshmen, hell, even the grade nines who don't even go here yet, know that he's been set on president since he knew the definition of the word. She makes motions to build memorials to people who haven't even died yet.

"Yes," The freckled girl begins "Apparently there has been a mix-up, I have an unexcused absence on my record. There's no way that's right. It's only September 27th, and I have not missed a class."

"Hold on, let me look at your records." Some tapping. "It says you missed third period on the 16th."

"Well, that's incorrect. If I remember correctly, I had a doctor's appointment on the sixteenth."

"Did your parents call it in?" the secretary says, pained. "It can't be excused unless your Mom or Dad excuses it for you."

"I should suppose they did!"

"Well by the looks of things, they didn't."

"Those…" a sudden flash of darkness crosses her tanned face, breaking through her sugary diction. "I mean, well, would I be able to get them to call?"

"There's a five-day grace period for that. You had until last Thursday, so unfortunately, yes it's too late."

"This is ridiculous. I don't see why _I _should be punished for having a doctor's appointment! I want that unexcused absence _gone!_"

"There's nothing we can do about that, Courtney, if we let things get called in retroactively, people could just lie about where they were last month once they get close to the absence limit."

"Ugh." Courtney makes a small grunt. "I want to talk to the principal."

"She's busy, hon. Just…take a seat over there, next to Mr. Petrakis."

With a huff, Courtney stomps her blocky heels all the way over to the chair beside Tyler. There is no one else in the room, but she takes the chair beside his.

Her arms cross tightly, squeezing her prominent bosom. She spends a moment silent, in a pout, before finally deciding to cool down and engage her waiting room peer.

"Let me guess, you were sent to the office for another disruptive stationary fight?"

Tyler snaps into reality, coming to his own defence. "Come on! That was two years ago, let it go already! Besides, it was Duncan who started it."

"Of course it was Duncan who started it, it's _always _Duncan who starts things. In fact, that was the day where I first understood to what point Duncan 'starts things' and decided to at long last give up any hope of reconciliation with him!"

Tyler may not be the most perceptive person in school, but two things in her speech are immediately apparent: firstly, that reconciliation with Duncan is certainly a sore spot with her, and secondly, that she was making a bold-faced lie.

"More like you realized you were in love with him…or something."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not thirteen anymore. Lots of girls my age prefer 'bad boys'," she makes air quotes, "But I'm not a child. I know that bad boys are simply that, _bad_,"

And Tyler could tell she was making that up, too. She _loved _bad boys. As soon as someone did something naughty or forbidden, it can be assumed that Courtney would get a raging hard-on for them for the next couple of weeks. Whether it be Geoff's parties, Duncan's mowhawk, or even back in sixth grade when Bruce 'Lightning' Kareem got his diamond stud. Which was particularly messed up, since Lightning Kareem is like two grades behind them, and in grade six, that's tantamount to pedophilia. With any luck, Courtney never finds out that her established rival Noah Khosla smoked a blunt with Tyler and Geoff during the Summer, or else she might molest him or send him to gay camp or something. Goddamn it, Courtney.

"Whatever, Courtney." Tyler utters, reclining in his seat and splaying his legs even further.

"You still didn't tell me why you're here. Did you cut class? Did they take your cell phone away? Did get into an argument with a teacher?"

"No! It's not even your business, dude."

"Don't call me dude. People don't go to the office just to 'hang out'! Underage drinking, maybe? No, that wouldn't be a school issue."

"Why do you want me to look like a bad guy so badly?" Tyler says, jolting more erect.

"I _don't_. I was simply wondering how someone…" her eyes follow the line of his figure, "Upstanding like you could need to come down here. Have you been spending time with Duncan or something?"

"You need to lay off the Duncan stuff, you're like, obsessed with him."

"Am not! He's a bad egg! I can't believe I just called him a bad _egg, _but that's exactly what he is!" She whines.

"If she's so bad, why do you keep talking about him?"

She opens her mouth but doesn't speak. She faces forward and crosses her arms tightly again, squeezing her mass of her breasts against the edge of her dress top.

"I just came down to get the logins for my class." Tyler finally says. Courtney's expression warps slightly, a look of embarrassment laced with almost a kind of disappointment.

"But to be fair, I only wanted to run the errand so I could cut math. It blows, man."

Courtney turns to him, mouth parted. Her coffee-brown eyes, heavily skirted in mascara, gaze thoughtfully at his face. Tyler replies with tight lips and a shrug.

At that exact moment, Harry returns with the login list, and Tyler's task is nearly complete.

* * *

Tyler decided to take the long way around. The _long _long way around. After grabbing a cookie from the caf and strutting around the school for a good fifteen minutes, he realizes it's probably in his best interest to return to Mrs. Penney's room before someone calls a search party out on him. He runs up the stairs three at a time, remaining half of his cookie pinned in his mouth.

He reaches the top stair and shoves the last piece of the oatmeal confection in his mouth. As he chews, he hears the familiar clackity-clack of high heels.

The moment he swallows his oatmeal cookie, Courtney rounds the corner.

"What are _you _doing here?" She says with an accusatory tone. "Shouldn't you be back in class? It's already eleven-thirty."

"I felt like taking a walk." He says, passing her.

"Hold up." She says. He turns to her.

"Dude, you told me to get to class. Now you tell me to _not _go to class. What do you _want?_"

"You're impossible."

"I'm just minding my own beeswax, dude! Can't a guy munch on some cookies without getting hounded?" his hands flail in exasperation.

"You'll run out of absences before the first month is over!" she says in a squealing, airy, voice.

"Why do you even care?"

"You'll fail, and you're not lowlife like Duncan! You're not a bad boy!"

"I bet you wish I was!"

"I!" Her voice cracks and dissipates. She examines Tyler, wide eyed, bosom rising and falling with strong, silent heaves.

"Get back to class."

She clacks her heels against the ground double time, and hurries down the stairs.

* * *

Offering to run errands for Mr. Dentzel is an excellent way to escape the horrors of chemistry class, which Tyler, being in foundations math, probably shouldn't be taking at all. But the pH scale isn't really that hard, and the teacher said the quadratic formula will be written there for them when they need to solve problems with it.

When he runs errands, Tyler always finds a way to make the simplest excursion take the longest time possible. Under the guise of having a particularly arduous bowel movement, he can surely find the time to sneak a good ten minutes of handicapped bathroom stall make-out time with Courtney.

Of course, only if she has an off-period.

* * *

**This is the first thing I ever posted here that isn't 1st person and isn't Noah-centric! So it's really different using Tyler as my focus instead. He isn't as wordy or thoughtful so I couldn't be as flowery, but on the same note, he's a lot more innocent and fun than cynical Noah. Also I'm totally in love with him, he's like my favorite male character along with the Noco boys. He doesn't get enough love! So in this story, he will get love. Literally. And with everybody. Enjoy!**


	2. Tyler Watches Hockey

Nine fifty and the Hockey game is on. Tonight, it's the Montreal Canadiens versus the Detroit Redwings, and Tyler has always been a Canadians fan, even though he isn't sure why they spell 'Canadians' wrong on their shirts. Tyler is also pretty sure that 'Toronto Maple _Leafs_' is also some form of incorrect, but he can't put a finger on it. Because of this trend, Tyler is of the belief that every hockey team has a misspelled word somewhere in the name, at least all the Canadian ones, so that they can keep copyrights or something like that. Edmonton Oilers, Vancouver Canucks – what buffoons! It taught him a handy trick at remembering to spell certain words, even though his Canadian History teacher in grade ten never seemed to catch on to Tyler's definition of 'Oilure' and of 'Canuques'. He wasn't very good at French, so the 'que' thing put him through a loop sometimes, and so did silent letters, but that's another problem entirely.

The commercial ends and the game resumes, second period. Tyler cracks open another can of Alexander Keith's, and hands one to Zeke. Beer tastes kind of like stale bread, but they're teen boys watching sports with no parental supervision, so it's kind of a requirement.

Tyler stopped finding it kind of weird that he spends increasing amounts of time with Ezekiel Lukashenko, even though he isn't a normal person at all. They used to be tight in elementary, back when the small Ezekiel was the perfect size to intimidate on the b-ball court. Maybe it's just because Tyler's parents knew his parents, who tried to set their stumpy, awkward son on playdates with someone arguably more appealing and athletic. When puberty hit and everyone got taller, Ezekiel didn't grow quite as much, so for all intents and purposes, his status as the punching bag could have remained.

Except he got really messed up during his teen years. He started to smell funny – well, funnier than before. And he constantly ping-ponged between being hardline Christian and obnoxiously atheist, never failing to be dogmatic regardless of his current position. So it was no wonder that nobody wanted to hang out with him, ever.

Then in grade eleven he shaved his head bald. Like _really _bald. Like face-razor-to-the-scalp bald, and nobody knew why. Any chance Zeke had at not being a total zero was swept away like his scraps of oily, brown hair on the tile floor.

But that was then, and this was now, and Tyler decided to suck up his pride and hang out with Ezekiel again, because there truly was a time, many years ago, that he truly considered that awkward Canadian stereotype a real friend, and given the opportunity to rekindle that, it's better to do it than _not _to.

So this is where they find themselves, in front of the TV, drinking beer, enforcing Zeke's status as a stereotypical Canadian in broad strokes. Perhaps they should have taken a case of Molson's Canadian instead of Alexander Keith's, as it contains the very word 'Canadian'. However, when sufficiently cold, the variety between the light, yeasty tastes of beer is minimal, and being only eighteen, Tyler has to make due with whatever Zeke gets. And there's no doubt, based on his physical appearance and general attitude, that Ezekiel is not exactly a man of cultured tastes.

"D'you ever see that show 'House'?" Zeke says, out of the blue.

"Yeah, sometimes. It's like, that doctor who's a dick, right?" Tyler says, taking another frothy sip from his can.

"I kinda like it. All that doctor mumbo-jumbo. It would be cool to be a doctor."

"Zeke, b'y. You're never gonna be a doctor. You're nineteen years old and aren't in college yet." Tyler sets his drink down on the side table. "You were, like, super smart in junior high. You should get your shit together."

"Eh, I could still do it." He rubs the sleeve of his shirt against his nose. "Anyway, yeah, House. It's a good show. They have Olivia Wilde being a lesbian, making out with chicks and everything."

"No way, dude. I've seen house, Olivia Wilde dates the black guy."

"But she made out with girls. She's a lesbian."

"You're not a lesbian if you make out with boys too, dumbshit. She's bisexual." Tyler grunts, pointing a finger at Ezekiel's empty skull for emphasis.

"Whatever, b'y. She kisses girls, it's pretty hot."

"No, dude, that's not even the gayest thing on House. House is super gay with his little buddy who wears a tie all the time. They live together or something. I saw that episode where they went to a funeral. Super gay." Tyler leans back into the leather padding of the sofa, clicking the remote's volume button a few times to better hear Don Cherry and the boys.

"That's gross. I don't wanna see two old-ass men getting freaky."

"Ew, dude. They don't even get freaky. They don't even."

"I wouldn't wanna see it, if they did." Ezekiel cracks open a second beer, launching his empty can behind him and missing the loose pile of recyclables by like a kilometre.

"Don't you ever think," Tyler begins, squirming a bit, "that it's a bit, um. What do you call it? Hippo…"

"Hippopotamus?"

"No, numbnuts, why would you even think that? It's when you believe two things that don't match." Tyler twitches his fingers pensively. "Hypocrite. Don't you feel like a hypocrite for saying that it's hot when girls make out with each other but it's not okay for two dudes to go at it?"

"It's not even the same thing." Ezekiel replies, sliding even further back in his seat. "It's not even."

"Yeah, it totally is." Tyler shoots up straighter, contrasting Ezekiel's slack posture. "It's, like, same-sex couples. It's not like they make girl on girl marriage legal and not for guys or some shit. You can't have one without the other. Equality. Or some shit."

"Well I like girls and when girls kiss girls then it's twice the girls. Do you like making out with girls?"

"S'pose so, man." Tyler raises his eyebrows, he can't argue with that logic, even if it _is _Zeke logic.

"Well do you like making out with guys?"

The question Ezekiel poses sends a tiny jolt of nausea through Tyler, a visceral repulsion. "Ew. I dunno. I never thought about it much."

"Well then, there you go." Ezekiel tips the can towards his lips again, guzzling several millilitres of alcohol.

"How do you do that without gagging?"

The game is nearing the end. Well, kind of. When the clock says 14 minutes, it really means 14 minutes plus about twenty thousand minutes of stop-clock and maybe Don Cherry will come back to pound his fingers into the table for a few more minutes on top of that, explaining how he feels about young guys beating each other up on the ice.

Predictably, most of the people on the Canadiens have these French-ass names like 'David Dechamais'. Tyler remembers a few years back when there were more people with these weird Lion King-type names like Saku Koivu, although apparently he's like from Finland, where there are no lions.

"You really think you can't have one without the other, eh?" Ezekiel suddenly says, pulling himself into an erect position. "You like lesbians, you like the gays too?"

"Yeah, they should be allowed to do whatever gay-ass stuff they want. I mean, you don't need to _like _it, but you gotta tolerate it, cause they're gonna keep being that way no matter what ya think. Besides, I have at least, like, one gay friend."

"Eh." Ezekiel begins to tap on the top of his beer can rhythmically as Tyler's eyes stay glued to the screen. A fight breaks out, gloves fly off, a guy's probably gonna lose a tooth. There are some girls, mostly Canadian or maybe a few Finns, who like hockey players, but it's probably not for their looks. Next to none of them still have the nose shape they were born with.

The tapping on the can becomes more frantically paced, and seems a little nearer, too. Tyler feels the felt of Zeke's hoodie run against his arm as the melody is tapped out on the beer's top. He peels his eyes away from the TV screen long enough to utter: "Dude, what are you…"

A brief stalling, then Tyler is met with Ezekiel's stubbly lips pressing into his mouth. He stifles a grunt and pulls away quickly.

"Dude. What?" Tyler shrieks, smearing his wrist against his lips.

"I dunno, b'y. You got me thinkin' about stuff." He rotates the green can between his hands. "Maybe if girls can kiss girls, then guys should kiss guys. Equality, or some shit."

"I didn't mean _you _with _me!_"

"Well, what did you think about it?"

Tyler wants to get upset with him, but after a brief moment of pondering, he comes to a realization. "I dunno, man. It was over too fast for me to really pay attention."

The pair stares at each other with an inexplicable combination of curiosity and disgust, mouths parted and noses crinkled up.

But they wind up kissing again, despite Tyler's mind telling him it's absolutely a bad idea. This time, they let it linger for at least a moment, even though the kiss is still timid and unsure. Ezekiel's mouth tastes like old, yeasty beer, and his lips have the texture of beat-up rawhide. By the end of the kiss, Tyler isn't any more sure of anything than he was before.

Okay, he was sure of one thing, and that was that the kiss was downright unpleasant. But on the other hand, he couldn't be a hundred percent certain the unpleasantness came from kissing a boy, or if it came from kissing _Zeke. _If Zeke were a girl, he probably still wouldn't have enjoyed that.

Because it's Zeke, the same Zeke who shaved his head bald and can't decide if God is real or not. The same Zeke who never learned to avoid picking at scabs in the middle of class.

Ezekiel shifts uncomfortably on the lumpy leather sofa. "Dude, what just happened?"

"They just scored."

"You're right."

* * *

**That one was awkward but cool. I wrote it mostly sitting behind this really hot/gross kid who lives with me who always wears pyjama pants. He's annoying but cute and he makes me want to write, and write, and write, to describe his shrieking voice and adolescent figure and floppy hair and giant forehead… it's pretty rad to meet new people.**

**Also at school I have lots of writing exercises, which surprisingly makes me wanna write MORE not less! That's good news! I'm liking these Tyler one-shots, far easier to write than a sprawling Noco saga!**

**Finally, I have already five more Tyler ship fics planned, but if anyone wants to make requests in the review section, I'll consider them! **


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